Текст книги "Middle of Knight"

Автор книги: Jewel E. Ann

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Middle of Knight

Jewel E. Ann

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales are purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2015 by Jewel E. Ann

Kobo Edition

ISBN: 978-0-9961564-7-9

Cover Designer: © Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations

Formatting: BB eBooks

To women over forty. We’ve still got it!

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Also by Jewel E. Ann

About the Author

Chapter One

Knight

The signs were everywhere. That twenty-twenty hindsight was an evil, gloating bitch. What incentive was there to ponder a question that had already been answered? The PTSD was a catch-all. AJ knew it. Jillian dismissed it. Fate seized it.

I love you. Why would he say those words? Jillian Knight pondered that question while her brother, Jackson, drove her home from the hospital.

“So you just ran out?” Jackson asked, making a quick sideways glance.

“Walked. I walked out. I told AJ I needed to do something.”

“And what was that?”

“I needed to get the hell out of there.”

“Why?”

“He said … ‘I love you.’”

“I see … Actually, I don’t. You’re going to have to help me out on this one.”

“Why would he say that? Was his accident some near-death experience that brought about this rush of irrational feelings? And it wasn’t just that he said it. It was the way he said it. It’s like someone had a gun to his head.”

“Do you love him?”

“No … I-I don’t know. That’s just it. What was I supposed to say? Thank you, or I’d rather you wouldn’t?”

“So what now?”

She sighed. “I don’t know. Food, beer, and then I’ll face him tomorrow.”

By eleven o’clock that night, with the help of four bottles of Heineken, Jillian had an epiphany. It was a new record for her. Most epiphanies didn’t happen until the end of the sixth bottle of Heineken.

“Jackie?” she whispered, opening Jackson’s bedroom door.

“What the hell did you call me?” he grumbled with his head buried in his pillow, the bed sheet draped low on his waist.

Jillian giggled, then hiccupped. “Jackie … I figured it out.”

He flipped over, raising up on his elbows, eyes squinted against the hall light. “Call me that again and I’ll knock you out before the beer gets to it.”

“Scooch over.” She stumbled to his bed.

“I’m naked.”

“So … scooch.” Jillian wedged her way into his bed.

Jackson retreated to the other side, securing the sheet around his waist.

“I’ve decided to love AJ.”

“Decided?”

Jillian rolled onto her side facing Jackson with her cheek rested on her folded hands. “Yes. Why not? Right? He’s mature, and good in bed, and he gets me, and he’s good in bed. He’s strong and grumpy, which I find oddly sexy. Oh … did I mention he’s good in bed?”

Jackson stared at the ceiling. “Yes, you mentioned that.” He chuckled. “Sex doesn’t mean love.”

“I never said that. God … all you guys think about is sex.” She slurred each word. “I’m serious. He’s my chance. You’re going to find that happily ever after, and she’s not going to want me living with you forever. AJ will take me.”

“God, you’re so drunk right now. That’s it, huh? You can just decide to love him, like love’s a choice? And you’re basing this deep emotion on the possibility that he ‘gets’ you, or even more pathetic … that he’ll ‘take’ you. You’re making yourself sound like a stray dog. You need to get off the booze. It’s beginning to rob you of your self-esteem.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’d rather he love me than hate me. He’s had a vasectomy so he’s not looking for a baby mama, and he’s definitely not clingy so in some ways he’s the perfect guy. And I have these feelings for him and maybe they’re love. I’m not going to lose him because my head is messed up. When Cage called and said AJ had been in an accident, I swear my heart stopped. It has to be love.”

Jackson rubbed his eyes. “You’re thirty years old and just like that you’re making the decision that you don’t want a family?”

Jillian tried to roll her eyes, but it was hard to do behind heavy eyelids. “That makes no sense coming from my twin brother that doesn’t want children.”

“I never said that.”

“You said you don’t like kids.”

“Misquoting once again. I don’t like other people’s kids. My kids will be awesome.”

“Will be?”

“Yes. The whole slew of them. My wife is going to be so hot I won’t be able to keep my dick out of her. She’ll be knocked up all the time.”

Jillian laughed. “I can’t wait to see that. My nieces and nephews … not your dick in my sister-in-law.”

“If you don’t want to see my dick then get the hell out of here.”

“Fine. Good night.” Jillian bumped into the nightstand and then the wall, trying to maneuver her drunk self out of Jackson’s room.

*

Morning didn’t care that Jillian had too much to drink the previous night. Neither did the incessant knocking at the door.

“Jackson!” she called.

Nothing.

Unaware of the time—fifteen minutes after noon—Jillian grumbled about the poor etiquette of someone knocking on the door so early. She winced at the throbbing side effect of too much Heineken as she shuffled her bare feet to the front door.

“Cage, hey.” The morning sun burned her retinas as her nipples saluted the crisp morning breeze.

Cage cleared his throat, forcing his eyes to stay on hers instead of her barely covered body.

“Uh … hey. I just brought my dad home from the hospital. He wants to see you. I have to get back to campus, but I’ll be back this weekend.”

“Yeah … I … um, yeah.” She nodded through her rambling of nothing that made any sense. “I’ll shower and be over.”

She started to close the door.

“Jillian?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

She narrowed her eyes. “For what?”

“For being here and putting up with him. Even if he doesn’t say it. I know he appreciates it. But mainly for me. It eases my mind to know that someone is … looking out for him.”

“Oh … sure.” She shrugged it off. “How’s he doing today?”

“Fine. I think. He’s quiet. Seems a little distracted. I think the accident really shook him up, which is a little weird because he’s been in crashes, around gun fire, and even ejected from a plane that was shot down.”

Jillian frowned. Cage confirmed her earlier suspicions that AJ wasn’t quite right. “I’ll talk to him. Drive safely back to campus.”

“Thanks. I will.”

After a long, procrastinating shower that included a review of the previous night’s declaration made under the heavy influence of alcohol, Jillian slipped on a yellow sundress several shades brighter than her mood, red rain boots, and her best smile to mask the courage she struggled to muster. She considered taking him something to eat, but decided one near-death incident that week was enough.

“AJ?” Jillian called, letting herself in his house.

“On the couch.”

She peeked around the corner to the great room. The closed blinds on every window rejected the light as the stagnant air leadened her lungs with doom. “Hey,” she said, her voice unusually small. Damn nerves. “Are you drinking? Before five?”

AJ tipped back a bottle of beer. Just the sight of it caused Jillian’s stomach to roil.

“Yeah, why not?” He flipped off the TV.

She slipped off her boots and sat on the opposite end of the couch, lifting his feet up to sit and resting them back on her lap.

He nursed his beer, staring at her, but not saying anything.

“About yesterday—”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not … or I was, but I’m not now.”

“Doesn’t matter. Just forget about it.”

Jillian traced her finger along the serpent tattoo on his leg. “What if I don’t want to forget about it?”

“I don’t give a fuck what you do.”

She glanced up at him, lips parted, eyes wide. “Do you need a minute to rethink that?”

He took another pull. “Nope.”

“Would you like me to come back later?”

“You don’t need to come back at all. That’s all I wanted to tell you.”

The twenty-four-hour whiplash left quite a sting. Especially since she’d prepared to reciprocate his expression of feelings. Those feelings had taken a backseat to his anger.

“Are you having a moment or is this about me leaving yesterday?”

“Don’t be so fucking condescending with me. I’m not having a moment, and I told you to forget about yesterday.”

Scooting out from under his legs, she stood. “Call me if you need anything.” He didn’t deserve another glance as she pulled on her boots and walked to the door.

“I won’t—” His voice slurred.

She turned. “AJ!”

He shook, tumbling from the sofa with a thunk.

“Oh my God!”

A seizure racked his body, stealing him from consciousness.

Jillian grabbed his cell phone off the sofa table and dialed 9-1-1. They talked her through it and sent an ambulance. She followed it to the hospital, leaving a message on Jackson’s phone, but waited to call Cage, assuming it was most likely a side effect of his accident and the concussion.

They treated him in the ER, but no one would give her any information because she wasn’t family. An hour later they let her see him.

“Why are you still here?” His words hung heavy with defeat as she entered the room.

“Because I love you, you idiot.” It’s not how she’d planned on telling him, but it came out and she couldn’t stop it. The word didn’t feel right, but it didn’t feel wrong either. It just felt like a word.

He closed his eyes and turned his head side to side. “Don’t.”

She sat on the edge of his bed. “I shouldn’t have left yesterday, and I’m sorry. What you said scared me. I don’t feel worthy of that kind of love and—”

“Stop … just stop.” He opened his eyes. “I meant it when I said it doesn’t matter.”

“What doesn’t matter?” Jillian’s voice escalated. “Me? Us? Your love for me? Mine for you?”

“All of it,” he said in a monotone voice.

“It mattered yesterday. You said—”

“You didn’t let me finish!”

Jillian jumped.

AJ sighed. “You didn’t let me finish yesterday. You left too soon.”

She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“I needed you to know that I love you, but then I was going to tell you that I can’t be with you anymore.”

“Yeah, that makes perfectly no sense whatsoever. You need help. I know you don’t want to talk about the PTSD, but it’s eating you up inside. You may not think anyone can help you, but maybe you just need another opinion.” She refused to back down, refused to be kicked to the curb like an old sofa up for grabs. He could be harsh and hurtful, but she could deal with it.

“Goodbye, Jillian.” He looked away.

“I’m not leaving, you stubborn SOB.” She grabbed his face and forced him to look at her. He was it—her last chance at love and she was determined to take it. Her past had taken too much already. It wasn’t deserving of him too. He was her future—a future she would fight for.

“Is this a bad time?”

Jillian turned.

A doctor in a white lab coat stood at the door.

“No … sorry, come in.” She smiled past her anger and released AJ’s face as if she hadn’t just manhandled a patient.

He nodded, walking toward them. “I’m Dr. Rinehart from oncology.”

Every last bit of air evaporated from the room. Jillian couldn’t find a single breath.

“Doctor.” AJ nodded. “This is my friend, Jillian.”

Jillian looked at AJ, not Dr. Rinehart. “W-why do you need an oncologist?”

“Tell her, Doc. Why do I need you?”

Dr. Rinehart gave Jillian a regretful smile. “AJ has a brain tumor. It was discovered on his MRI after his accident yesterday.”

The air. Where was all the fucking air? The migraines, the personality that flipped without warning, the PTSD pigeonholing for everything … how could everyone have missed it?

“Cancer?” she whispered.

“We’re not sure,” Dr. Rinehart replied.

“When will you know?”

Dr. Rinehart looked at AJ.

“When I’m dead and an autopsy confirms it.”

Jillian turned, glaring at AJ. It wasn’t the time to be mad at him, but she was. How could he say that? Why would he say that?

“You’re not dying!” She looked to Dr. Rinehart for confirmation.

“I’ve consulted with the neurologist that saw AJ yesterday. The tumor may be inoperable.”

“But … you can do radiation or chemotherapy or something else, right?”

“Yes, there are other options.”

“But the neurologist confessed that the success rate is lower with tumors like mine. And I’m sure as hell not going to be a guinea pig, so—”

“So what?” Jillian snapped at AJ. “You’re just going to do nothing? Wait until your headaches get even worse? Wait until you’re having seizures every day? Wait until you—” The familiar pain in her chest crashed like a wrecking ball. She didn’t notice the tears streaming down her cheeks until she tasted their salty presence.

“Die?” AJ grabbed her hand and squeezed it so hard that pain in her chest exploded into something irreversibly destructive. “Yes, Jillian. I’m going to die.”

Chapter Two

There was nothing and yet everything to say, but the nothing won over. AJ left the hospital with a grim nod from the doctor and a handful of medications to help with the migraines and lessen his chances of having seizures. Jillian opened her mouth to speak at least a dozen times on the way home, but nothing came out.

“Thanks for the ride.” AJ mumbled, getting out of her car.

“Have you told Cage or your parents?” She jumped out and chased him toward his door.

He shook his head and kept walking.

“Don’t shut me out.” Raw emotion bled from her words. Everything had happened so fast she couldn’t process it.

The man that dared anyone to cross him stood in defeat at his door with his back to her, head bowed, hands on his hips. “Why? You shut me out all the time.”

“I don’t—”

He turned. “You do. You’re orphaned Jillian from New York. You have a sick need to make men bleed. You’re thirty and your greatest skill is selling sex toys. That’s so fucking pathetic. Yet somewhere along the way, I bought into all of it. Part of me loves you, but I don’t know how and I sure as hell don’t know why, because I don’t really even know you!”

Her teeth clenched. “You didn’t want to know. You said it yourself.”

“Well I do now.”

“Well I … can’t,” she whispered, shaking her head.

“Why not?”

“I just can’t.” She would never be able to make him understand. “I don’t want you to die.”

Why couldn’t he see the pleading in her eyes that said everything she couldn’t?

“Tell me what happened to you. Tell me and I’ll make an appointment with the oncologist on Monday.”

“That’s not fair.”

“I have a goddamn tumor in my head. Life’s not fair!”

She continued to shake her head. It was a nightmare. Eventually she would have to wake up. “You’re blackmailing me with your fucking life? What’s wrong with you? You have a son and parents who love you.”

“You don’t trust me.” He narrowed his eyes then turned toward the door.

“It’s not about trust!” She grabbed his arm. “Just…” the anger and desperation pulled the pin to another grenade inside her chest “…forget it ever happened. Please.”

He laughed. He actually laughed. Her anger held back the tears.

“Forget what? The biting and clawing? The broken nose? The fact that we can’t sleep in the same bed?”

“Yes,” she whispered, closing her eyes as shame stole the last bit of fight she had left.

He pulled away from her. “I can’t.”

*

As she pushed open the front door, feeling weak with defeat, her phone vibrated with a text message.

Hebrews 9:22

“How’s he doing?”

The thundering of her pulse muffled the sound of Jackson’s voice. Some fucker kept vying for her attention, trying to cripple her with fear, when AJ’s doctors had already given her an overdose of it.

“He has a brain tumor.”

“Jill …” He pulled her into his arms, but still no tears, just a cold numbness. “Cancer?”

“They’re not sure yet, but it seems inoperable and AJ doesn’t want treatment.” She stepped back, laughing at the morbidity of the situation. “Let me rephrase that … he’ll agree to treatment if I tell him about my past.”

“Oh … you’re not thinking of—”

“No, I’m not going to tell him.” She shrugged. “What’s one more death to my name?”

“It’s not your fault.”

Shaking her head, she held up her phone. “Doesn’t matter anyway. I’ll probably die before him.”

Jackson plucked it from her hand. A squint of confusion etched along his forehead. He searched for its meaning. “Indeed, under the law almost everything is purified with blood, and without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness of sins.”

“What if it’s him?”

Jillian narrowed her eyes. “Who?”

“AJ.”

“Not funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny.”

“Jesus, Jackson! Did you hear me say he has a brain tumor? It gives him migraines, and seizures, it’s probably the reason his personality flips without a moment’s notice, but he’s not a stalker.”

“Maybe one of his personalities is.”

“It’s not.”

“Nothing else makes sense. Trigger and Four are dead. If it were the people responsible for Mom and Dad, they wouldn’t play this cat and mouse game … we’d simply be dead.”

Jillian put her hands over her face and sighed with a little grumble. “Tell Knox to get me a new phone. I’m going to bed … for the next month. Don’t wake me.”

*

The overprotective and sometimes doting brother hated being the bastard, but someone had to be. After three days of Jillian leaving her bedroom only for water, Jackson yanked her from the black hole.

“Time’s up. I’ll give you five seconds to get out of bed before I start your intervention.”

“Touch me and I’ll kill you,” Jillian warned from under her rat’s nest of covers.

“I welcome the challenge. At this point I’d welcome any sign of life from you. Maybe you need a good ass-kicking.”

“Jackson!” she yelled and flailed as he heaved her over his shoulder and carried her to the bathroom. Depositing her stubborn ass in the shower, he turned the lever until an icy stream of water rained on her.

She clawed at the walls and slipped along the floor like a drowning cat.

“Wash up. You stink.”

An hour later she emerged from her room with clean clothes and wet hair. “He loves me. And he’s dying. That’s messed up, right?” She looked at Jackson through vacant eyes.

He could confirm AJ’s impending death, but not from his tumor. “He’s not dying, not today anyway. I’d call it shock. Once he accepts the reality of his situation, he’ll man up, let them fry half his brain with some experimental treatment, and live happily ever after with his psychotic neighbor.”

“Not funny.”

Jackson cradled her face then sighed at her lifelessness. “I’ll never stop reminding you that you are the strongest person I have ever known because when you hit the lowest depths of hell, you choose to claw your way out every time. It’s not what you do … it’s who you are. You’re a survivor.”

The bravest woman alive sucked in a shaky breath. “I’m not. You … I’d die without you.”

He hugged her. “You wouldn’t. I think a meteor could hit Earth and wipe out the human population with the exception of you.”

She grunted. “I’m not invincible.”

Jackson kissed the top of her head. She encompassed his world. “You are to me.”

Even the protector of this brave woman lived with his own demons. Had he followed his instincts, he could have saved Claire’s life and in turn, his sister’s. Instead he waited for their dad to get home nearly twenty-four hours later.

Twenty-four hours too late.

He never told his sister that, and he swallowed the guilt every day of his life. Nothing but more pain could come from what-ifs.

“I have a lesson in two hours and I have a few errands to run. So eat something and call Dodge and Lilith. They’ve been worried about you.”

Jillian nodded.

“And ice your eyes or something … your face just looks all kinds of wrong right now.”

“Thanks for that.”

“Anytime.”

*

Jillian forced down a piece of dry toast then lay down with teabags on her eyes. The man who would always have her heart was alive, but she would never see him again. The man who made her think love was possible without said heart was right next door, but he was on a cruel suicide mission and eventually he would die and she would never see him again.

Maybe she would be the last person standing. It was just her and life—both equally crazy.

The doorbell rang. Tossing the teabags in the trash, she shuffled her bare feet to the door.

“Hi.” Jillian mustered a smile at the woman standing on her stoop.

“Hi, sorry to bother you. I’m Ryn Middleton. I clean AJ’s house.” She pointed next door. “There’s usually a key under his planter, but it’s not there. And the garage code doesn’t work either. I tried his cell phone but it goes straight to voicemail.”

Jillian laughed a little. She had no doubt that AJ was trying to keep someone out of his house, but it wasn’t Ryn. “He’s had some issues lately. I’m sure it’s just an oversight on his part.”

Ryn wrinkled her nose a bit. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or get you in trouble, but would you happen to have a spare key to his place? I’ve been cleaning his house for over five years so I’m not a thief or anything. I just have a really full schedule, so if I don’t clean for him today he’ll have to wait another two weeks.”

Jillian smiled. “I do actually.” She held up a finger. “Just let me grab it.”

The woman, to whom the rules did not apply, returned with a small black box. Ryn raised a brow.

“I’ll open it for you. I’m Jillian, by the way.”

Ryn followed as Jillian’s boots squeaked with each step through the dewy grass to AJ’s front door. “Uh … that doesn’t look like a key,”

“It’s a universal key. Comes in quite handy. You should think about getting one. I’m sure this isn’t the first house you’ve been locked out of.”

Ryn replied with a nervous laugh. “I’m not sure what the neighbors would think of me using a lock-picking set to open a client’s door.”

“They’d think you’re ingenious.” Jillian turned the handle and the door opened. “Well, at least that’s what I’d think if I saw you doing it.” She returned the picks to the box and closed it.

“What if he asks how I got in?”

Jillian grinned with pride. “Tell him I let you in. It’s the truth, and trust me, he won’t ask you any more questions after that.”

Ryn gave her an easy nod. “Thanks. I’d better get to work.”

Jillian smiled, took a few steps toward home, then turned. “Are you taking new clients?”

Ryn grabbed two buckets of supplies from the back of her car. “I could probably take on one more, but it would have to be a weekly client. I have a two hour slot on Tuesday afternoons, but it’s not enough time for a bi-weekly job. More dirt. More time.”

“My brother and I could use someone to do some light cleaning, if you’re interested.”

“Your brother?”

Jillian laughed. “Yes. My roommate happens to be my brother, for now. We just moved here.”

“Well, yeah … if you want Tuesdays I could put you on my schedule. When I’m done here, I can come over and give you an estimate if you’ll still be home.”

Jillian didn’t really need an estimate, but it seemed like the normal thing to expect so she went with it. “Sure. If I’m not home Jackson will be. And, just a fair warning … he’s going to like you.” She winked at Ryn.

An uneasy smile formed along her lips. “Excuse me?”

“Just ignore everything he says or does. He’s taken a vow of celibacy. Some days are easier than others.”

*

“We hired AJ’s cleaning lady to clean this pit on Tuesdays, and she’ll be dropping by to give an estimate when she’s done with his place. So be nice and keep your dick in your pants. I’m going to watch Lilith.” Jillian pulled her hair back into a ponytail.

“We hired her?” He loved how his sister made decisions for both of them without consulting him.

“Yes.”

“And why do you think my dick will wander from my pants?”

She insulted him with her lack of trust. He was a changed man.

Her answer began with a sigh. “Because she’s older than you—maybe late thirties, early forties. And she’s pretty.”

Jackson crossed his arms. “Elaborate on pretty.”

“She’s most likely married with kids, two fish, and a dog, so I don’t know why it matters.”

“Elaborate on pretty.” He held firm.

“Five-seven, a hundred and thirty pounds, shy smile, an inverted bob cut with wavy shades of blond, light blue eyes, and freckles. Bye.” She shut the door.

After piecing all the descriptives into a mental image, he looked down at his crotch. “Yeah, buddy, this could be a problem.”

Several hours later, while in the middle of his lesson, a few soft taps rapped on the door.

“Keep playing. I’ll only be a minute.”

He opened the door. “Hello.” The smile that curled along his lips continued to grow as he stole a few extra seconds to just look. It didn’t hurt to look. “You must be AJ’s housekeeper.”

“Yes. Ryn Middleton.” She strained her neck to the side. “Sorry, am I interrupting?”

“I’m in the middle of a lesson, but Jillian said you’d be coming by. Come in. Feel free to scope out the place. You won’t bother us.”

A nice smile, indeed shy but genuine, graced her mesmerizing face as she nodded. Although, it was her eyes that held his attention, a stark change from his past. He usually couldn’t remember a woman’s name, let alone her eye color. The exception, however, stood in front of him with the most brilliant blue eyes that faded to icy blue halos right next to her pupils. They drew him in like a hypnotic spiral—an idiot just staring at her.

“Oh…” he moved to the side and grinned “…yes, come in.”

“Thanks,” she whispered.

His student continued to kill his piano by playing her own made-up chords that had him dreaming of physically harming her. Ryn didn’t need to whisper. Her voice offered an angelic reprieve from the musical massacre going on in the background.

The distracted piano teacher, with his head in the gutter, sat back down by his student while Ryn surveyed their place. No wedding band shackled her finger, but it was possible she didn’t wear one while cleaning. Five or so minutes later she paused near the front door, writing something on a pad of paper.

“Play that song again,” he told his student. His mind screamed, Get out! And never touch Black Beauty again.

Jackson’s new obsession smiled as he approached her. “Here’s the estimate.”

“Great. So I’ll see you Tuesday.”

Her brow furrowed a bit. “You…” she gestured to the piece of paper “…didn’t even look at it.”

Jackson looked at it for two quick seconds. “Great. So I’ll see you next Tuesday.”

Ryn chuckled. “Twelve-thirty.”

He nodded. “If you need to discuss that time with your husband and call us back that’s fine.”

Ryn peaked a single brow. “I’m pretty sure women asking their husbands’ permission to schedule work went out of style a couple generations ago. Twelve-thirty on Tuesday.”

A terrible answer. What was he supposed to deduce from that? A simple “I’m not married” or “I don’t need my husband’s permission” were the acceptable answers. At least they would have been clear answers; the only acceptable answer was the first one.

*

Shit. Shit. Shitty. Shit. Shit. That pretty much summed up Ryn’s thoughts on her new clients, specifically the tattooed sex-on-a-stick that taught piano lessons. Guys that looked like that did not teach piano lessons. Then there were those geeky glasses with the white tape on the bridge. Was it wrong that within thirty seconds of him answering the door her mind had him crawling up her body wearing nothing but those glasses? Probably.

Damn hormones.

His eyes and that smile—she knew flirting when she saw it. Or maybe it was teasing. Flirting said “I want you.” Teasing said “You want me, but you don’t have a chance in the world. Ryn had to think on that one.

Celibacy.

Jackson didn’t look like a priest, but there really wasn’t any other good explanation. He probably played the organ at church. A tattooed organ-playing priest. And his age—younger. He had to be in his sexual prime. That explained Jillian’s warning. His carnal needs warred with his spiritual calling and his type had been reduced to a simple category: women. When a person suffers from starvation, they’re not choosy. They just crave food.

Any woman would be tempting after going so long—or maybe forever—without sex. Was it possible? Was Jackson a virgin?

Ryn tore through her last house on autopilot and dragged her tired, aging ass into the shower. Three weeks separated her from the big four-oh. It wasn’t a huge deal, except she would be forty and single with a twenty-one-year-old daughter and an ex-husband with a restraining order against him. She really knew how to pick ’em.

The most important male in her life was Gunner—her ten-year-old German shepherd. She adopted him as a pup and they went through years of training together. The perfect guard dog, obedient to her like a soldier.

“Should we call Maddie?”

Gunner tilted his head to the side. Ryn towel dried her hair while plopping down on the bed and grabbing the phone.

“Not now, Mom.”

“Nice to talk to you too, Maddie.”

“Well you call me every day. I have a date. Some of us have a life, you know.”

Ryn knew. How could she not? Her daughter reminded her of it all the time.

“I thought we could do a spa day for my birthday.”

“I have to work on your birthday. Need I remind you why that is?”

No. She didn’t need to hear it again. Maddie’s father pulled her college funding when Ryn filed the restraining order. Maddie complained that her mother overreacted. She didn’t, but Maddie had no way of knowing that because Ryn sheltered her from all the ugly. It was a mother’s sacrifice and Ryn never regretted it, even when her daughter treated her with disrespect and contempt.

“Well, if you find someone to work for you—”

“I won’t.”

The usual sigh escaped Ryn. Someday Maddie would understand that no amount of money justified selling both of their souls to the Devil. And Preston Iverson was the devil.

“Madison … I love you.” Ryn ended the call before her stubborn daughter had a chance to respond. Of course she loved her only child, but she had too much respect for herself to tolerate any more snide comments. It was like strikes—after three, Ryn ended the conversation.